


i can’t make you love me / nick of time

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, Post-Season/Series 03, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: She had always wanted to love him. Not from afar, but right up close. But over and over, he just wouldn't let her. And she was starting to think that he never would.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50





	i can’t make you love me / nick of time

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to [this cover of "I Can't Make You Love Me"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3VjaCy5gck) by Justin Vernon of Bon Iver a whoooole lot lately. I adore how he adds just a bit of "Nick of Time" at the end, which just changes everything about the mood of the piece, and my brain decided it was a fic prompt.
> 
> Thanks to Quietshade and irelandhoneybee for their indulgence of my self-indulgence :D

Karen was shocked when she checked the time in the corner of her laptop and realized it was after midnight. She'd gotten totally absorbed in her work. Matt had declined her offer to help him get ready for bed, but that was a while ago now. He was probably asleep.

He'd been up and around quite a bit today. His wounded leg was healing well enough that she and Foggy could stop the round-the-clock nursing shifts that Matt whined about so much. In fact, there really was no reason she couldn't go home tonight. Matt's couch wasn't all that comfortable, if she was being honest.

But she felt weird leaving without letting him know. What if he called for her in the middle of the night and she wasn't there? He'd called for her that first night — dreaming or just muddled from the pain. It was bad enough that he actually allowed her to give him something to take the edge off. And then she held his hand until the medication kicked in and he fell back asleep. (She didn't actually let go then. Not for a long time. But he didn't need to know that.)

She moved quietly across the apartment to his bedroom. If he was asleep, she'd put up with one more night on the couch. If he was awake, she'd tell him she was going.

She peered at him from the partially open door. His body was still in the pinkish glow of the billboard, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. He looked so peaceful it was hard to imagine there was even a flicker of violence in his soul. His hair was disheveled and he had a cut healing below his right eye that for some reason made him look younger.

She crept closer to him, until she was right at the side of the bed. She didn’t have any excuse to do it, except for wanting to keep looking at him. She felt the familiar ache squeezing up from her chest to her throat.

Maybe there was a part of her that was trying to wake him up so she could tell him she was going. So she could get away from him, away from this place that felt so much like home but wasn’t hers.

But he didn’t stir. She started to turn to go back to the couch, where she knew she would think about him and not sleep at all, but before she could step away, her hand was caught in his.

Startled, she stopped and looked back. His eyes were still closed.

“Sorry,” she whispered sheepishly. “I was just...checking...”

He made a low, contented sound. “You’re so good to me,” he murmured, his voice drenched in sleep.

And her brain rebelled at that, a frisson of irritation crinkling her forehead. Because she hadn't been, not always, but she always _wished_ she could be. She had always wanted to love him. Not from afar, but right up close. But over and over, he just wouldn't let her. And she was starting to think that he never would. In that moment, in his room, by his bed, his hand in hers, she felt it like a horrible sinking certainty. She'd go on loving him — because it wasn't something she controlled, it just _was_ — but it would always be at arm's length. All she would get were these scattered moments when his guard was down.

The thought took her breath away and she sat down suddenly on the mattress. His eyelids fluttered and he tugged on her hand, pulled her closer, down into the bed. He still seemed half-asleep and that made it OK somehow, to let him. She snuggled down against him, careful not to get anywhere near his right leg. She kicked her shoes off and heard them thump to the floor.

Even half-conscious, Matt seemed to understand that it meant she was planning to stay. He shifted, inviting her under the covers with him. And she was exhausted and her heart felt like an open wound and if she could have a few hours of sleeping in his arms that he would probably only vaguely remember, she was going to take it. She was going to be selfish and she was going to take it. She'd figure out a way to explain it all away in the morning.

She fully intended to go to sleep, but she was distracted by the slide of his hand into her hair. He felt so good against her, the heat of him soaking through her clothes and into her bones.

"Karen," he rumbled, and oh, that was everything she'd wanted for so long, his hand in her hair and her name on his lips, and it was the most natural thing in the world to tilt her face to his so he could kiss her.

He was definitely awake now. Maybe he was as desperate for comfort as she was just then. He was moving, kissing her harder, and she heard him make a noise of pain as he jostled his leg. She tried to pull away a little, to give him room, but he just kissed her with even more urgency. And she wanted to ask him — _Why, Matt? Why now?_ — but asking would mean stopping and she didn't want to stop.

For one night, at least, she wanted to love him up close. And then, if she had to, she would make her peace with loving him from across the office, from her lonely bed a few blocks away.

His hand slipped under her shirt to caress the bare skin of her back and she shivered. The pull of want for him was strong and she tumbled into it, smothering the last tiny sparks of warning in her head.

She let him set the pace, not wanting to push anywhere he wasn't eager to go. But he didn’t seem to want to stop any more than she did. She was dizzy with the unexpectedness of his touch, drawing her in deeper and deeper. They were too intent, too focused, to speak much, but the room echoed with their breathing, with quiet sighs and little moans as they got lost in each other, as the layers between them melted away. When they did speak, it was Matt’s soft, "Can I...?" and Karen's breathy refrain of "yes."

Yes.

Yes.

And she was drowning in the pleasure and the sensation, in his mouth and his hands and his tenderness. And she was careful, so careful, with him and his injuries. And then, all at once, she was above him and he took her hands and laced their fingers together, and she was balancing against him as she moved, almost like they were dancing. She felt light and pure and _safe_.

And thank god she hadn't missed this, even if she never got to feel it again. Because she knew well enough what it was like to have sex with someone, but she had no idea what it was like with someone you loved enough to die for, someone who had been willing to die for you, someone who knew every horrible thing you had ever done and hadn't turned away.

She tried to concentrate on the feeling, to store it away for the future, but it was too much, too powerful, to get a grip on. She was so, so high up now and there was nowhere to go but over. And she was almost scared to, afraid she would be shattered into bits that would never fit back together, but eventually, she had to. She _had_ to.

She let go.

Instead of falling, she flew higher.

* * *

Karen felt shy coming back from her turn in the bathroom. Was he already regretting letting things go so far? Would his guard be back up? Would it be all — _you deserve better, Karen_?

But when she stepped through the doorway, he smiled the sweetest, softest, most bashful smile, one she'd never seen on his face before, and she was pulled back to him like a magnet. Her one night didn't have to be over yet.

Karen settled into his arms, feeling more content than she could ever remember feeling. But it was only moments before the worry came creeping back, clawing at her heart. She could feel it all slipping away, could hear the unwanted answers to questions she couldn't bring herself to ask.

She closed her eyes, and tried aggressively to sleep. She wouldn't lament the ending until it ended, dammit.

It almost worked, too. She was warm and very tired and she could start to feel the tug of oblivion. She was welcoming it, when—

“I love you,” Matt whispered reverently.

She jerked, smashing back into consciousness. "What?" she gasped.

"I'm sorry," he spluttered. "I—it just came out. But I shouldn't—it's too soon." He let out an embarrassed laugh. "I told myself I wouldn't screw everything up this ti—"

She cut him off, her voice pure smile. “Say it again. Please.”

And he did. And before he even finished getting the words out, she was saying, “I love you too” in a rush, their voices lacing together.

“You’re going to have to repeat that,” he said with a grin. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

She ran her hand over his cheek. “I love you.”

And then she was laughing and she was kissing him.

"I mean it," he said. "I don't want to mess this up again."

"We'll figure it out," she promised. She was giddy and reeling and the question came out, without her even meaning to ask it. "But why now?"

He sighed and smoothed her hair back from her face, tangled his fingers into it. "That first night after I got hurt...I had nightmares. From the pain, I guess. I remember yelling and I thought—I don't know, I wasn't quite with it, but I thought I was all alone. And then you came in and you took my hand. And the relief—I'll never forget it. Better than the drugs." He tilted his face to kiss her forehead. "And I knew I couldn’t hide from it anymore. How much you mean to me."

"So if it had been Foggy on nurse duty instead...?"

Matt laughed. "It wasn't Foggy's name I was calling."

"So you remember that."

"Yes," he said, kissing the tip of her nose. "And I remember I woke up later and you were still here, still holding my hand. You stayed in that chair all night."

"Oh. You remember that, too." She smiled, biting her lip.

"Thank you," he said, his voice growing rougher. "I want to be there for you like that, Karen. I want..." He took a deep, uneven breath and swallowed.

“You have been,” she said soothingly. “Believe me. I’ve been very glad to see you appear in the middle of the night on more than one occasion.”

“That’s not the same—” he started to say, but she distracted him with a kiss. There would be plenty of time later for getting stuck in rabbit holes of recrimination.

“I was happy to sit by your bed the other night,” she said when she pulled away, “but I have to say, I prefer being in it.”

That smile was back — the bashful one. “I like it better, too.”

And she was ready, she was so, so ready, to find out what it would be like to keep loving him just like this. 

Up close.


End file.
